


Scars

by Katricia



Series: Soulmates [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Eventual Fluff, F/M, Scarring, Soulmate AU, Torture, Violence, i promise it'll be here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 16:38:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13617360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katricia/pseuds/Katricia
Summary: Your soulmate shares every small injury you gain. Scratches and bruises show up whenever they gain it. For larger injuries, all you gain is a new scar in the exact spot they had the injury.Octavia is covered in scars. None of them are hers.





	Scars

Octavia is covered in scars. None of them are hers. There isn’t much opportunity to gain scars when she can never leave their room, after all, and sewing doesn’t do more than prick her fingers occasionally. She knows it isn’t anyone from the ARK, she asked Bellamy to check the infirmary every time a new one appears, and there’s never an injury matching her scar. Which begs the question of who it could be. It’s not like there are any other stations, and there’s certainly not anyone on the ground, there’s nothing but irradiated dust down there.

She thinks up stories for her soulmate, when she’s hiding in the dark, clutching her doll. Maybe they’re a sole survivor on the ground, fighting off monsters created by radiation. Maybe there really is another space station, somewhere, and they’re prone to accidents, or a mechanic who gets the most dangerous job. Or maybe they just hide their injuries for some reason. 

Maybe they’re like her. 

The thoughts are dangerous though, they give her hope for something else, and she learns not to talk about them to her mother or Bellamy. They give each other worried looks whenever she brings up the topic, like they know something she doesn’t, and she hates that look, hates even more that they won’t tell her what they’re thinking. 

On the ground, everything is wild and beautiful, and she can’t help but think that if some of the things she sees here are alive, maybe others are too. Maybe people are still alive. The thought stays in her mind at all times, as she swims, as she stares at butterflies that are bluer than anything she’s ever seen, when she’s yelling at Bellamy to stop being quite such an ass. 

Honestly, he wasn’t this bad on the ARK, she has no idea what’s gotten into him. 

She’s thinking about it all the way up to the point where she’s kidnapped by a Grounder who won’t fucking say a word to her, and she wants to rage, she wants to yell, to beat him, because she promised herself she wouldn’t be this helpless again, that she wouldn’t be locked up ever again. But she swallows it down, and she watches him, and realises that maybe he isn’t so bad. Maybe he is trying to help, in an awkward sort of male way that doesn’t actually help anything. At least she’s used to men being idiots, Bellamy being the prime example of that, and the rest of the Delinquents never far behind when it comes to being dumb men. 

* * *

It isn’t until Bellamy takes the Grounder back to the dropship and is doing things -torturing him-that she notices the bruises blooming along her ribs, the scar that appeared on her palm, and she wants to throw up. Bellamy would never hurt her like this, she knows that in her head, but he is, in a fucked up sort of way. It figures, really, that her soulmate isn’t anyone from the ARK. After all, there’s no one there that she really likes, and the scars and bruises make sense from someone who’s trying to survive the ground. 

The thoughts and rationalizations don’t really distract her from what she knows she has to do, explain to Bellamy what’s happening. He would never forgive himself for this, for hurting her, however indirectly, or at least that’s what she has to believe. She has to believe that he’s still her big brother, still wants to make everything all right and hide her away from hurts. 

She still braces herself before pulling him aside, one arm around her ribs, as though she’s the one who has broken or cracked ribs. 

“Bellamy, you have to stop.” She starts in a low voice, only to immediately be cut off. His ‘I’m the big brother and therefore I know best’ face is firmly in place, and she really wants to hit him. 

“You don’t understand, I have to do this. It’s for the best.” There it is, and she shakes her head, peeling her arm away from her ribs and glancing around before pulling up her shirt, just enough to expose her ribs and the blue-black bruises that are there. 

“He’s my soulmate.” She says firmly, meeting Bellamy’s eyes. Just as she thought, horror crosses his face, and he takes a step back as she drops her shirt, once more crossing her arms as she glances around to see if anyone else has seen their exchange. No one looks interested in the latest Blake sibling drama though, something she’s thankful for. 

“I didn’t know.” His voice is soft, and she rolls her eyes in response. 

“Obviously, idiot.” This doesn’t exactly mean the Grounder is safe, there’s still the matter of the poison running through Finn’s veins. She’s not best friends with the boy, but she likes him, and he doesn’t deserve to die like this, because of a stab wound gained rescuing her. 

Bellamy doesn’t like her plan, but he doesn’t have any alternatives. Torturing the Grounder hasn’t gotten them anywhere, after all, in fact, Octavia is actually pretty sure it’s made the man more stubborn. She’s apprehensive too, but does her best to push her fear down as she climbs into the upper area where the Grounder is tied. She can’t help the shocked breath that escapes when she sees him, beaten and bloody. Even her own bruises couldn’t prepare her for this, she hadn’t thought Bellamy was actually capable of it. But he was, and she pushes that aside too, something to deal with later, and instead kneels in front of the man, resolutely not looking up into the brown eyes she can feel drilling down into her. She has the the little box of vials with her, and the poisoned knife, and she lays them out before looking up at him. 

“Which one is the antidote?” She asks, hoping her tone is what she wants, somewhere between soft and firm, pointing a finger at one of the vials. He just stares at her a moment more before looking away, obviously refusing to talk, and she sighs. So it’s the hard way, and she can only hope this will work. 

She picks up the knife and draws it against the skin of her forearm, watching in fascination as a red line blooms on his arm in tandem with the one that appears on hers. He doesn’t even seem to notice, his eyes almost comically wide as he stares at her arm. 

“Is it this one?” She asks, pointing at the first vial. He glances down at it before shaking his head in an almost resigned fashion. She pointed at the next one, and got another head shake, but the next one got a nod, and she couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped her lips as her fingers closed around it, and she stood, uncapping it before taking a small sip. It tasted disgusting, like bitter herbs and dirt, but she gulped it down anyways before handing it off to Bellamy, not paying much attention to him as he shouted down the stairs, too busy picking up a discarded knife to saw at the ropes still holding the Grounder up. 

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, watching the rope slowly give way. “I didn’t know that-I didn’t know.” Didn’t know he was her soulmate, didn’t know that Bellamy would do this to him, didn’t know that he was trying to help. He doesn’t say anything, just lets out a grunt when the rope finally gives and his arm drops, sagging against the other one. She winces, pressing herself up against his side in an attempt to prop him up. He’s heavier than she expected, somehow, and she snaps her fingers at Bellamy. 

“Cut the other rope!” She orders, busy acting as a human crutch. The Grounder is hot against her side, and smells like blood and sweat, and something else underneath, something that reminded her of the scents of the forest. She likes it, as much as she hates to admit it. But for right now, he needs medical help before they both get more scars. On the bright side, Bellamy isn’t arguing with her, although she’s sure that’ll change before long. 

The other rope snaps and she’s staggering beneath the Grounder’s weight, wincing when he groans again. She doubts he’d allow himself to show any weakness if he wasn’t truly in pain, and for a moment she can’t help the flash of anger towards her brother before she tamps it down. 

“Here, lay him down on the floor. We can clean him up there.” The Grounder doesn’t fight as they work to lay him flat on his back, and it’s only then that Bellamy speaks up, eyes cautious as he looks at her, and she knew he wouldn’t keep following her orders for long, but she really wishes that it could have lasted a little longer. 

“O, we can’t just let him go. He’s got others out there.” The rest goes unspoken, the idea that the man going back to them in the shape he’s in wouldn’t be good. That they’re in no shape to fight, walls or no. They’re just a bunch of teenagers, sent down to die, and she sucks in a breath, tasting blood and metal on her tongue, and shakes her head. 

“Get some water, a rag. Bandages from Clarke. We’ll fix him up, then you can try apologizing.” She glares at her brother until he scurries away, sufficiently cowed, and then turns back to the Grounder. He’s staring at her again, brown eyes soft with curiosity, and she trails a hand across his shoulder, softly, wondering once again if he can even understand them. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again. “I should have helped sooner.” Maybe he can understand, because he holds her gaze a moment longer, his hand that wasn’t wounded coming up to cover hers before his eyes close again.

* * *

It’s two days of protecting him before his eyes open again. Bellamy is the only one she allows up, besides Clarke, once, begrudgingly, to check and make sure his wounds aren’t festering. She doesn’t trust anyone else though, there are too many hard feelings after the acid fog, and Jasper, and everything else that has happened. It isn’t just because he’s her soulmate that she’s protecting him either. It’s not as if she’ll die when he does, and there are people who fall in love with someone other than their soulmate, but there’s something about him. About the way he looks at her, like she’s actually there. He looks at her and sees her, not an extra who was never meant to be. It’s something new, and she likes it. 

She’s washing his face again when he opens his eyes. She’s already cleaned and bandages all his other wounds, and Clarke poked his ribs before declaring that the had at least one broken one, maybe two. She’d have to bind them up before he started to move around, keep it from poking into his lungs. For now though, she’s just wiping away the sweat that’s accumulated. It’s hot up in their little room, moreso than it is outside, without any breeze. 

He opens his eyes, and at first, his brow creases in what she assumes is confusion, and he tries to sit up, only for her to push down gently on his chest. His eyes clear when they land on her, and his face arranges itself back into the blankness that’s been there since they brought him here. 

“We’re alone. Are you-how do you feel?” It was pointless to ask if he was all right, she doubted he’d answer anyways, and the answer would no doubt be no. He was injured, and in enemy territory for all he knew, he was certainly not all right. He just stares at her, and she sighs, frustrated. She’s pretty sure he speaks English, but it would be nice if he actually spoke it at some point. 

“You’re safe now,” she attempts, fingers flitting across his shoulder, pausing to gather her courage. “I-do you know what soulmates are? Do you have those here?” Of course they do, but she has to ask, just to make sure. Maybe he’s an oddity, doesn’t know what that word even is, but he actually responds. It’s nothing more than a short nod, but she lets out a sigh of relief before peeling up her shirt to show him the bruises still staining her ribs blue and red and black. His eyes widen and flicker to hers. She honestly thought he might have guessed, with the way he had been protecting her, but apparently he hadn’t. Maybe he was used to being hurt, and hadn’t noticed when scrapes appeared. She was more than a little surprised at how much she disliked the idea of him being hurt, but she did like him. And she rarely liked seeing things being hurt. 

“Lincoln.” The single word seemed to be a struggle for him to get out, and the shock of it had her blinking before scrambling for a glass of water to lift to his lips. “My name is Lincoln.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can totally see this continuing in any way you please, but I like it just ending here, honestly.


End file.
